My cock ached at the prospect while my fingers longed to simply stroke her long hair and touch her soft skin. The irresistible pull grew increasingly stronger until I knew the best thing to do was to let her sleep.
The weekend had been everything I'd hoped and more. I loved getting to know a new side of Kimbra as well as meeting her family. As she slept, I imagined taking her to meet my parents. I even imagined introducing them to Oscar, Judy, and Helen.
Those thoughts are completely out of character. Instead of introducing any of them, I should probably seek intervention.
Maybe it’s because my grandparents are gone, but there is something about Helen that I truly like. She's fun and outrageous and, unapologetically, a straight shooter. She's the type of person whom in business I respect, whose opinion matters—like Kimbra.
Instead of waking Kimbra as I’d wanted, I showered, slipped back into my shorts and t-shirt, and made my way to the kitchen. Coffee, two eggs, bacon, toast, and many laughs later, I went to find Kimbra. Her entire family was curious as to why she hadn't joined us. I was too.
Since the moment I opened her door to the redecorated or undecorated bedroom, my stomach has been in knots. I can't put my finger on why things changed or on what I did.
We fell asleep with her amazing tight ass nestled against my satisfied dick and her soft body wrapped in my arms. Eight hours later and she'll barely make conversation or maintain eye contact. The only thing I can come up with is the mistake with the condom.
The silence builds as the plane taxis down the runway. Finally, I can't take it any longer. "Kimbra, if you're upset about the lack of condom, I can show you a medical report. I promise I wouldn't—"
Her cold blue stare stops me. "I told you I was fine. I mean, based on the reason that I was able to get you here in the first place, I should question you. But I'm not. If you say you're clean, then I'm sure you are."
My skin heats as I contemplate the best response.
Her lips press together before she speaks again. "I told you. I'll keep your secret from Mr. Buchanan and do my best to keep Buchanan and Willis from a sexual harassment lawsuit."
I slap the armrest as the plane takes flight. "I told you his name is Mike. He already knows. I told him. What the hell happened between last night and this morning? Whatever it was, I'm clueless. Tell me. Tell me why you’re being a bitch."
The coldness of her eyes melts as they flood with sadness. She turns away, but not before I swear I see tears.
"Fuck," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.
An alarm dings as the phone in the armrest rings.
I stumble toward Kimbra and fall into the seat beside her.
Her damn eyes are glassy as she turns my way. "Duncan?"
Buckling my seatbelt causes the alarm to stop. I reach for her hand. "Talk to me. I'm sorry. You're not a bitch, but you're being cold and I don't know why. Tell me what I did."
Her neck stiffens. It's exactly the same as when we were in her room earlier today. Though her hand beneath mine twitches, she doesn't pull it away.
"Did I snore?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you mad that I ran over Jimmy during the cousins' football scrimmage? I'm competitive. Besides, Kevin was happy. We won."
Kimbra turns her face toward the window, yet her hand stays in mine.
"I know," I say. "You think I let Helen win the last night of poker. I didn't. I swear. She kicked my ass. What she does with that twelve dollars and seventy-five cents is not my responsibility."
Kimbra turns back. Her eyes are red and cheeks damp.
"Fuck," I gasp more than say. "Talk to me."
"Damn it, Duncan." She pulls her hand away. "You're not this dense. You're a businessman. A successful one. You're a player. You always have a date—you're surrounded by women. We're not that fucking hard to figure out!"
You know those pictures, the ones where one person sees a kitten and another sees a lion? That's the sensation I have as I look at Kimbra. In one way, I see the lion. A proud, majestic, beauty who has the power to eat me alive, who has the power to take my world, cause irreparable change and chaos. And at the same time, I see a kitten—soft and adorable, one I want to hold and pet, one I want to hear purr in my ear as we sleep through the night.
"I disagree," I say, "...on many counts, by the way."
She wipes more tears from her cheeks. "Just never mind. Thank you for everything. My family loves you. It's going to break their hearts when I tell them the truth, but I decided I need to. I almost did..." she rambles on about everyone in the kitchen, how she wanted to tell them, but they were too happy.
Finally, I stop her. Not with words. I pull her tear-dampened face toward mine and kiss her.
"Duncan, stop."
"I don't want to."
"It's over. We're almost back to New York. I won't ask any more of you than you can give. I know you said you couldn't help me with marriage, 2.5 children, or a dog. I get it. Our deal was for this weekend only. It's done. Congratulations, the powerful businessman fulfilled his responsibility."
I reach again for her hand. "If you want a dog, I can take you to the shelter."
Her tits move up and down and head shakes as she turns back to the window. Her stare lingers as if she's suddenly enthralled with the way the sunlight reflects off the tops of the clouds. Finally, she mutters, "I don't want a damn dog."
As my chest fills with something, something that makes both talking and breathing difficult, I begin to speak. It's a story that few know. My mom and dad. Mike Buchanan, because he was there to pick up the pieces and put me back together, and the therapist whom my mother insisted I visit. The list stops there, except for her—Tessa.
"Maybe someday you could meet my parents—"
"Duncan, don't."
I turn on her, my voice and expression sterner than I intend. "Let me talk. Let me explain."
Kimbra sucks in a breath and nods.
"My parents, they're good people. They raised me and my brother in a decent middle-class family. They both had good jobs, and I never worried much about anything other than winning my next football game or getting good grades. I've always done all right in the looks department. I'm not being conceited," I add. "It's just that I have good genes. I never tried. I also never cared too much about girls, any more than any other hormonal teenage boy..." I take a deep breath, determined to be honest, more honest than I've ever been with any other woman. "…until she transferred to our high school. We were juniors.
"That's just fucking seventeen years old. Now I know that was young, but you know what? When you're seventeen, you know everything. Her name was—is—Tessa. She had the most beautiful light-chocolate skin. Her grandma was from Jamaica. She didn't have to work at her looks either. She had the genes, an amazing combination of exotic and all-American."
Kimbra's blue eyes are now dry as she turns her hand palm up and we intertwine our fingers.
"She was an only child and her mom was a partner in some big financial firm. That's why they'd moved to New York. Her dad," I went on, "was a psychologist. I remember thinking how cool it was that he moved his practice because it helped his wife's career.